


Understanding

by Naopao



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:23:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naopao/pseuds/Naopao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the rotg kink meme. Jack Frost stumbles upon Pitch during All Hallow's Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Understanding

It’s crisp and cool and near dusk, and the children begin to appear, vibrantly clad, big and small. They masquerade as demons, witches, zombies with elongated claws and plastic fangs, attempting to be as menacing as the monsters they imitate. The small creatures travel in groups, their howls and screeches mix with laughter and chatter; the festivities of the night to come make their heads buzz. Leaves crunch beneath their feet, and on their heels frost creeps, crystallizing autumn colors along the pavement.

Jack smiles, knowing full well it is not his time, but that has rarely stopped him before. He steps high, movements jittery before he bursts into a run, tapping earth and concrete with cold, leaving his signature, a promise of the months to come. 

He frosts the tips of the children’s faces, elevating their excitement and their belief. Some don’t see him, and that’s okay, because there are also ones that do. 

As Jack slows to a walk, he spots a small copper child, sparkling sequined dress and play sword in hand. She dashes ahead of her older brothers, rounding a corner where the street light dims and dies. From the brush, two masked horrors rush her, and Jack’s on instant alert, letting the wind fling him forward to aid the girl. 

She screams, swinging her sword as she backpedals towards her family, but the monsters don’t pursue. Instead, they turn to each other and high five, pulling their masks off as Jack breaks before them. The teenage boys continue laughing and pointing through the frost spirit as the girl’s brothers move to confront her bullies, and Jack slips away as easily as he came. The little girl stares wide-eyed, fear forgotten, as Jack ascends into the sky. 

It grows later and darker, though Jack doesn’t feel the cold, and he’s too busy spreading fun and mischief along with the children. He’s stealing pieces of brightly-colored candy from stingy adults to redistribute when he hears a scream. It is unlike the childish wails of surprise excitement. 

It is a thing of true fear.

The spirit jerks towards the sound in time to watch a tree branch snap and splinter against the concrete. A bespectacled boy with scuffed knees begins to sob, only a foot or two away from the fallen wood. Jack hustles to the boy, flanked by concerned parents who can’t see him. From what Jack can tell, the boy seems unharmed, though he is shaken.

The frost spirit looks to the branch and feels his stomach twist. The shards of wood shimmer in the moonshine, a patchwork of frost lines its dead bark. He had settled in that tree a few minutes earlier to scope the neighborhood, weakening the constitution of the old wood as his magic coated it.

How had the boy moved in time? Jack circles the crowd of people gathered around the boy, looking for clues. Had he jumped to avoid the branch? What were the chances? No, there was no way he could have reacted in time.

“Getting clumsy, aren’t we.” The statement rumbles low in his ears. Jack swings his staff in front of him, sending a line of frost towards the shadows which slither out of the ice’s path. Only months after his defeat and already Pitch is back to his old schemes. The guardians should have planned for this.

It is impossible to see Pitch’s shadows in the darkness, but Jack’s eyes strain for a target anyways. The immortal boy steps waywardly in an attempt to shed light with his dimly glowing weapon, also succeeding in leading the nightmare king away from the lstreets and the children.

“What are you doing here?” Jack’s call echoes around him. Everything seems less cheerful, more menacing. His grip tightens on his weapon.

“Why, Jack, it’s All Hallow’s Eve, my favorite night of the year.” Pitch’s voice sounds all around him, bouncing off the shadows. Jack still can’t see him. “Makes a being of fear feel good, after all. People remember what it’s like to respect the spirits, and tremble before me.”

“I thought no one believed in you anymore. What’s the point in trying to scare kids that can’t even see you?” Jack replies. He knows he could easily defeat Pitch if he wants a fight, and the older spirit rarely attacks before having his say. Still, Jack doesn’t want to take chances.

Pitch’s laugh rings in his ears, but his voice sounds tired. “It is impossible to squash fear. Creatures fear on an instinctual level. They are born with this fear, fear of darkness, of the unknown, of shadows.” 

Pitch’s eyes burn gold before the rest of his body slithers into form. He reclines against the trunk of gnarled, barren tree a few feet away from Jack, seemingly relaxed.

“I still don’t understand. If some still believe in you, why did you fight us? What’s the point in ruling all belief?” Jack lowers his staff; it hangs loosely at his side. He moves closer to the boogey man, but not too close, still wary.

“A silly question. At one time I held all the power. Everyone feared. They lived in the wilderness. There was widespread famine, disease, and injustice, not just concentrated in certain regions of the earth, but everywhere.” Pitch sighs, gesturing to the grove around them. “Please, Jack, do sit. I would rather not fight if it could be avoided.” 

Jack moves closer, opting to lean against an adjacent tree with his arms crossed, staff still in his hands. This whole encounter seems so surreal. Is this the same nightmare king that had so ruthlessly fought against them only a few months ago? Jack stares at Pitch as he continues speaking, noticing how he seems even weaker than ever, wilted.

“When you have that sort of control. It’s near impossible to relinquish it. To have so many see, so many know you…” The shadows roil around Pitch and settle once more as he calms. “Well, now I am a thing of petty scares. But fear, even small is important.”

“Not sure I follow you.”

Pitch’s eyes narrow and focus on the frost spirit. “Must you be so daft? I’ll admit luck had something to do with it, but because that small boy knew me, I was able to save him from death.”

“The boy…with the glasses?” Jack stares back at Pitch, trying and failing not to let his mouth hang open in astonishment.

“Yes.” Pitch returned gruffly. “I managed to scare him, much as those two delinquents scared that snot-nosed princess. Quite a good tactic, old but good. Your frost would have done him in had I not intervened.”

“It was an accide—wait.” Jack pauses, and everything slides into place. Jack’s eyes grow wide. 

“You were following me?”

Silence blooms and shadows shift uneasily as Pitch’s form seems to freeze, his head turned down.

“You were following me…and you saved that child’s life.” Jack pushes against the tree, leaving his staff propped against the trunk. He is close to the nightmare king, just out of arm’s reach.

“Why?”

“I…don’t know myself.” Pitch replies after many heartbeats. 

Jack feels oddly struck by the admission, chest tightening in anger and a flurry of other emotions. He tears the nightmare king from his sitting position, lifting him by the shadowy tendrils of his collar.

“How convenient you decide to grow a conscience after nearly killing Sandy and destroying the rest of the guardians. You nearly disrupted the balance of this world, and after all this…” 

The nightmare king swiftly grows to full stature, and Jack stumbles. Their positions flip; Pitch shoves the frost spirit against the gnarled tree, grey hands fist in the boy’s hoodie, lifting him off the ground.

“Listen here, whelp. I have been alive centuries before you were ever granted your powers. You could not possibly fathom the hardships I have endured, what I have gone through in order to stand before you today.” The shadows lash around Jack. Their almost-touches cause him to shiver at the uncomfortable sensation.

So close, it’s impossible not to stare into Pitch’s eyes, watching them filter through anger, loneliness, sadness… 

…regret. The realization must show in Jack’s eyes, for the nightmare king’s brows level and his frown softens. Their gazes lock with new meaning, something charged Jack doesn’t understand. He feels the heat of Pitch’s hands through his hoodie, the faintest ghosting of warmth from the spirit’s breath.

“No, I…” His hands slide over Pitch’s, coolness covering the burning heat he finds in the older spirit’s limbs. “…I think I understand.”

The nightmare king’s eyes widen so large in any other situation Jack would find comical, but another word entirely surfaces in his mind. Barely a second passes during the established contact before Pitch sinks, dispersing into darkness. 

“Stay out of my way, Jack. I hardly need your pity. I will do what is necessary to survive.”

The atmosphere thins, and the world seems to fall back into focus. He knows Pitch is gone.

“Just surviving, huh…”

Jack stares at his hands, warmth lingering along his calloused palms. He tries to return to the festivities, but the hour is late, and the children have gone home.

All Hallow’s Eve passes once more.


End file.
